


palentine's to valentine's

by falloutmars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Roommates, Valentine's Day, basically just flirting and teasing, i mean...you can probably guess, idiots to lovers, is it a date or is is not a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutmars/pseuds/falloutmars
Summary: “We should do something tonight,” Betty announces as she saunters into the kitchen first thing.“On… a date?” he all but scoffs. Not that a date with Betty would be entirely unwelcome.Giggling, she shakes her head, dropping her arms to her side. “No, god, no.”–or, is it really a date? (A Valentine's Day fic)
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 13
Kudos: 99





	palentine's to valentine's

**Author's Note:**

> i am ONE day late and i apologize but i got there in the end eh? and i would apologize for the title but i'm just... not going to. and what?
> 
> seriously this is just fun fluff. i hope you enjoy it!!

“We should do something tonight,” Betty announces as she saunters into the kitchen first thing. Her voice is loud, its typical happy-go-lucky normality despite it being early.

Jughead’s immediate response to anyone trying to speak to him in the morning is to grunt. So he grunts through his mouthful of Lucky Charms, partly hoping his new roommate will drop the whole… speaking in the morning thing. He wonders if she’s really this energetic in the mornings or if it’s a front, but when he lets his still slightly blurry eyes rake over her, he’d guess that it’s real from her athletic sportswear and shiny forehead. She _runs_. Ugh.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get the hint. She wanders over to the coffee he brewed a few minutes ago, picking it up. “Is this fresh?” she asks, and he grunts an affirmative grunt. “And you know, because it’s Valentine’s Day!”

First, he chokes on the milk from his cereal. Then, he reflexively drops his spoon into the bowl, the metallic clang echoing far too loudly for his liking. And finally, he turns a bright red color. 

Luckily for him, Betty is facing the other way, adding spoonfuls of sugar to her coffee he swears is mostly milk. If he’s being honest, he’d rather forgo the amount of sugar she puts in and skip the early morning run, but each to their own, he supposes. 

He watches as she slots two slices of bread into the toaster, pushing down the button, before she spins around and leans against the counter. She loosely folds her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “So, what d’you think?”

 _Think?_ What does he _think?_ People _think_ this early in the morning?

Before she notices, he picks up his spoon again and shovels more Lucky Charms into his mouth, mostly to preoccupy himself before he says something stupid. Even as he chews, she stares at him, waiting for his answer. 

He swallows down his mouthful. “On… a _date_?” he all but scoffs. Not that a date with Betty would be entirely unwelcome.

Giggling, she shakes her head, dropping her arms to her side. “No, god, no.”

“Good,” he says with an awkward chuckle. 

Silence elapses around them, and an awkward one at that. Jughead turns his attention back to his cereal, which is sadly diminishing at record speed, and Betty turns her back as she grabs a plate from the cupboard. 

He’s just about to ask her to clarify what, exactly, she meant by _doing something tonight_ when her toast pops up, and he unashamedly jumps at the noise. Because of this, he ends up flinging milk from his spoon onto his pajama pants, giving them an unfortunately-placed stain. 

As he rubs on it in a poor attempt to rid himself of this mark, Betty turns around holding a plate of toast and a mug of coffee, freezing on the spot and exclaiming, “Oh! Uh, Jughead?”

He didn’t think it would be possible to blush any more than he already is, but he is quickly proven wrong. Hands flying from his, uh, pajama pants, he holds them up as if to surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Uh, milk—” he gestures to the spoon he abandoned on the table “—spillage.”

She starts moving again, kicking the chair out as she carefully places the plate and mug on the table opposite him. She sits down and clears her throat. “I would leave you alone, but I’d quite like to eat my breakfast.”

“No, no, no,” he blubbers, eyes darting around the room to avoid contact with her. “I wasn’t— I just—” he picks up the spoon and recreates what happened without the milk-on-the-spoon part of it “—an accident. Sorry.”

Grinning, she shakes her head. “I’m only messing with you,” she says before taking a sip of coffee. 

“Oh.” He lets out a long stream of air and coughs awkwardly. “‘Course, yeah.”

As another silence sits between them, he finds himself accidentally watching her as she eats her toast. She’s decidedly avoiding his gaze, her eyes moving anywhere from the kitchen counter to the calendar on the wall to the left of him, but she doesn’t seem uncomfortable in his company. Even though this whole _roommates_ thing is new, it’s never really been uncomfortable. Awkward, sure, and this morning is just another example of their encounters, but she never does anything that makes him outright uncomfortable. 

Apparently, that includes inviting him to spend the so-called most love-filled day of the year. Whether that’s down to marketing and commercialization, well, he has his opinions on that, but he’s sure Betty doesn’t want to hear them. Especially considering she’s single, and that can hurt sometimes. But, to be fair, so’s he.

(Somehow, even _that_ particular conversation that led to their awkward admissions of being single wasn’t uncomfortable.)

“What did you have in mind for tonight?” he asks, partly because he’s curious and partly because he sort-of-maybe would _like_ to spend time with her, Valentine’s Day or not. It’s likely they’ll be roommates for some time, he thinks, whilst they both finish their post-grad courses, so he’d like to be able to get to know her. Properly. One drunken night spent asking and answering the strangest questions doesn’t count. He’d like to be sober, or mostly, so he can actually _remember_ her answers.

She meets his eyes, then, during mid-bite of the toast he’s unduly jealous of. The, uh, _her_. Eating toast. Yes, yeah. He’s jealous that she, uh, has toast. Not, well, soggy Lucky Charms that’s mostly just sugary milk at this point.

He has to wait for her to finish chewing, so he busies himself with his lukewarm coffee. He glugs down the rest of it, gagging slightly at the disgusting tepid temperature. As he puts the mug down, he makes a face, and she giggles.

“What’s wrong with your coffee?” she asks, amused. 

He wonders if she’s purposely steering them away from her original question or if their jumping from one lane to another is more accidental than avoidance. To test that, he shakes his head dismissively.

As if to make a point, she picks up her own mug and sips it. It’s steaming still, evidently hot, and she makes a sigh of contentment. “Perfect,” she grins.

He scoffs jokingly. He likes this teasing nature between them, he decides, even if it happens to be early morning teasing in his barely awake state.

“I don’t know,” she continues with a shrug. “Pizza, movie, drinks? That sort of thing?”

He pretends to contemplate it for a moment, but he already knows he’s going to agree, rather excitedly too—he’ll try to keep that lowkey though—and it’s not like he’s got anything else to do, nor anyone else willing to spend time with him. His best friend, for example, was _very_ quick to let him know he’d be abandoning Jughead for a speed-dating event at a bar a few blocks away on this awful day. Of course, there was no way Jughead would ever, _ever_ , attend such an event, and honestly, he’s happy enough to be alone. Alone or with Betty, that is. 

Or so he thought.

“Like Palentine’s Day!” she exclaims.

Suddenly, he is very glad he’d already finished his coffee because if he were drinking it right now, he knows he’d be spluttering it everywhere, not only adding to the stain on his pants but probably all over Betty too.

_“What?”_

She’s grinning again, absentmindedly fiddling with the crust of the leftover toast. “Palentine’s. It’s like Valentine’s Day but for friends. Or, you know, roommates.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “And what, pray tell, does that entail?”

“No romance at all. We order pizza, get beers in—or cider if you want. Far too much candy, and the least romantic movie you can think of.”

“That… sounds perfect,” he admits slowly, cautiously. Partly because he doesn’t want to seem _too_ keen, but mostly because he’s enjoying this.

“Great!” She practically jumps up in excitement. “It’s a date!”

Leaning forward, he rests elbows on the table and throws his face into his hands. “Fuck _off_ ,” he groans loudly and over-exaggeratedly. 

A few moments later when he slowly looks up, she’s standing up, having somehow cleared the table of their dirty dishes. She’s still grinning at him happily, hands resting on her hips. “Now, beer or cider? I’ve gotta pop to the shops once I shower, so I’ll pick up some supplies.”

Firstly, his brain decides to supply him with a wonderful image of Betty showering. Secondly, once he’s forced that away, he cocks his head as he meets her eye. “Cider,” he says definitively. “And Haribo!”

“Are you a child?” she giggles, and he nods. In response, she rolls her eyes before turning to leave the room, but a knock at the door makes her stop in her tracks. She turns back to him. “Who’s that?”

He shrugs. “Nothing to do with me.”

She disappears for a few moments, and he hears the door open along with muffled voices before she reappears in the kitchen holding a huge bunch of red roses. She’s hidden behind them, but he can hear her chuckling.

“Who are they from?” he asks.

The chuckling gets louder as she dumps them on the table in front of him. “Aw, _Juggie_ , you didn’t have to,” she coos.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, rolling his eyes. Leaning back in the chair, he folds his arms and kicks the chair opposite him so it barges into her. He watches her reach with a dead serious face but breaks the facade when she yelps loudly.

“Sor-ry,” he sing-songs, smirking at her. 

Holding her leg up, she’s hopping across the kitchen floor, rubbing her foot as she whines overdramatically. “You’re the _worst_.”

He grins proudly. “Enemies to lovers is a trope for a reason, Betty.”

She puts her foot down, literally, and leans against the counter again, arms folded and a fake scowl on her face. “You’re the worst,” she repeats slowly.

“You love me,” he counters.

She rolls her eyes. “Bit much for a first date.”

“Didn’t think this was a date.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What’s with the flowers?”

Leaning forward, he plucks the card out of the bouquet and begins to read. “ _Dear my darling Elizabeth. You are—_ ” he cuts himself off as a giggle rises in his throat. 

Whilst he’s busy laughing, Betty comes over and snatches the card from him, skipping around their small kitchen as she reads it herself.

“ _Jess. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. All my love, Toby._ ” She gasps and stuffs it inelegantly into the bouquet. “Oh my God. That’s next door.”

“Ooh! Someone’s in trouble,” Jughead teases. “Wonder what Toby did.”

Betty hums in ponder, tapping her foot against the floor. “I can drop them ‘round on my way out. Maybe if Jess answers the door I can find out.”

He laughs. “Please do. I’m invested.”

Nodding, she heads towards the kitchen door again, this time stopping just in the doorway and spinning around on the ball of her feet. “Hey, how did you know my full name?”

He gestures vaguely around them. “It was on the contract for this place.”

She smiles. “Oh, yeah.”

“See you later, Betty. For that _date_.”

She rolls her eyes and turns away. “Not a date, _Forsythe_.”

–

Whilst Betty is out, Jughead does everything he possibly can to take his mind off of his not-date, including finishing up some school work, which just happened to be an essay on the wonderfully romantic _Romeo and Juliet_. Either someone is out to get him or his professor catered to Valentine’s Day. 

He partly contemplated decorating the apartment with rose petals and love hearts purely to tease Betty even further, but in the end, he decided that a trip downtown is not what he wants to spend his day doing, especially since he’s sure half the rest of the male population of this city would be doing the same thing. 

He does, however, pop down to the 7-Eleven two blocks away.

Now, their Valentine’s range isn’t exactly exquisite, but their candy range is. And as much as he trusts Betty to pick up some Haribo as he asked, he decided to stock up for his late-night essay writing drawer as well. And, uh, well… pick up a super cringe Valentine’s card for Betty. As a joke. Obviously. 

It kind of, maybe, backfires when he spends so long perusing the Valentine’s card stand that the shop worker—someone he knows pretty well due to his excessive need for candy—starts talking to him and asking about his girlfriend.

“No, no,” he argues half-heartedly. “No girlfriend.” Then, he realizes how weird that makes him look. No girlfriend but he’s been staring at romantic cards for the past ten minutes. He coughs awkwardly and chuckles. “Well, we’re, uh, not… you know?”

Kevin, the shop worker—also known as the local gossip—innocently shakes his head, glaringly obvious that he’s after more information.

Jughead inwardly cringes, cursing himself for getting into such a situation. He picks up the card he’d been eyeing up, angling it to Kevin. _You’ll do,_ it says on a pale brown background. None of that lovey-dovey crap. “Casual, you know?” he says, ignoring the fact that he’s digging himself an even bigger hole.

“Oh!” Kevin’s eyes widen in realization. “You’re just hooking up, but you want more, right?” He claps excitedly. “And this is your way of telling her! Brilliant!”

Before Jughead can continue making himself look like an ass, someone rings the counter’s bell for assistance so Kevin has to dart off. He breathes a sigh of relief and quickly hurries to the candy aisle.

(Against his better judgment, he writes the card to Betty in his neatest handwriting, leaving it on the kitchen table.)

She returns hours later with armfuls of Walmart bags and a grin on her face. When she dumps the bags on top of the card, Jughead thinks about trying to take it away before she notices, but he subsequently decides to ignore himself. He’d already unashamedly followed her into the kitchen from the front door like a lovesick puppy, so what difference does a _joke_ card make? He’s really willing to push it, that’s for sure.

“Candy!” she says, gesturing to the bag on the far left. “Lots of it because I know how much you eat.”

He chuckles, immediately digging through the bag. “Why are the Goldbears all pink and red?” he asks, holding the packet up. “Oh.”

Betty moves behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “They’re Valentine’s ones.” She pokes him in the side. “Great, aren’t they?”

He hums non-committedly and pulls out another two packets. “Starmix! Aw, you got two.”

“Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p’ right next to his ear. “I know how much you like them.”

A shiver runs down his spine; at her voice, at her warm breath on his neck, at the familiar sentiment. He quickly reverts his attention to the rest of the candy in the bag, listing them off as he goes, resisting the urge to pull her into a thankful hug. He doesn’t know why he ever doubted that she’d get the right stuff, but at least they won’t run out any time soon. 

After packing away the rest of the shopping together, Betty clears the table of empty bags, finally finding the card addressed to her. She picks it up, puzzled, then looks at him. “What’s this?”

Trying to keep the grin off his face, he bites down on his bottom lip, folding his arms as he shrugs in failed nonchalance. 

She narrows her eyes at him before looking back at the envelope. She carefully slides her finger through the paper, ripping it open. When she pulls the card out, her face is blank, right until she scans the message inside and bursts out laughing. 

“This is _not_ your handwriting,” she giggles.

He frees his lip from his teeth and lets that grin split open his face. “Yes, it is.”

She shakes her head, eyes fixed on the inside of the card. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“I’ve read your essays, Jughead! Your handwritten essays!”

He cocks his head. It’s true; she has. In actual fact, it was one of the first things she did for him when she moved in. Something to do with wanting to say thank you in a constructive way and that she’s _exceptionally good at throwing away excess semicolons._ He’d given in, mainly because he wanted to make her feel at ease, so he handed her a handwritten essay with a shy smile on his face, and got a teasing comment in return. 

She’s not lying, either. His handwriting is _awful_. Chicken scratch looks neat next to his handwriting.

“But I tried my best for you, _dear_ ,” he insisted. “ _Only_ the best for my _love_.”

She rolls her eyes, clutching the card to her chest. “Well, _darling_ , this is going in the living room for everyone to see.”

He grins again, leaning against the kitchen cupboards and folding his arms. “What’s next on the agenda for the date, then?”

Moving forward, she ends up stopping just inches from him. She’s dropped one hand to her side, still holding onto the card, whilst the other comes up to trail her fingertips up and down his chest. Suddenly, he’s very disappointed he chose a t-shirt today, rather than a shirt, imagining her slowly undoing the…

“You—” she punctuates the word with a hard poke “—need to get change.”

His mouth drops open, and he furrows his brows. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

She steps back but leaves her hand on his chest. As she eyes him up and down, her tongue pokes out slightly. When she meets his gaze again, she licks her lips. “Not exactly date attire, is it?”

“Didn’t think it was a date.”

She bites her bottom lip as she scans his face. “It’s not.” She audibly swallows. “But I’m dressing up. Aren’t you?”

His eyes almost roll into the back of his head at the thought of Betty in date clothes. “Yes. Definitely.” His voice is hoarse, so he clears his throat, leaning forward to murmur in her ear. “It’s definitely a date.”

Before she can reply, whilst she’s seemingly distracted, he darts out from where she’d cornered him, hopping to the kitchen door. He pauses briefly, leaning against the doorframe. “Is that okay, Betty?” he smirks.

She half-nods, but says, “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Smile on his face, he shakes his head before turning around to head towards his bedroom. He’s got exactly the outfit in mind.

“Oh, Jughead?” she calls out to him, and he spins around. “I found out what Toby did.”

“And?”

“Told her it wasn’t a date.”

He forces himself not to laugh, pushing his lips together briefly. “Really?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. He slept with another woman.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, blinking. 

“Yeah.”

“Did she forgive him?”

There are remnants of a smirk on her face when she replies. “The bin bags by the front door suggest not.”

“Oh.”

“And the half-naked man who opened the door.”

Jughead laughs out loud. “Good for her.”

Betty smiles, shaking her head as she gestures for him to go. “You’ve got a date to get ready for.”

“It’s not a date!” he calls back as he speeds to his room, her giggles echoing after him.

–

An hour later, Jughead takes one final look at himself in his dusty mirror with a toothy grin stuck on his face. He’s dressed, ready for the evening, and he’s even managed to decorate the living room. 

His outfit of choice is, he hopes, a good one. He wears a red button-up shirt, having purposely chosen the most romantic color in his wardrobe. With that, he’s chosen black skinny pants—nothing particularly special about them—and his favorite pair of suspenders. He wonders—hopes—if Betty likes the suspenders look, but even more so, he wonders if his outfit is so-called date appropriate. 

Smiling at his own reflection, he combs through his hair once more, making sure it’s as neat as it’ll go. Then, he undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, his fantasy from earlier running through his mind. He almost wants to shake himself out of this… _whatever_ he’s found himself in, but he’s almost certain they’re on the same page for this date-not-a-date.

Even if they’re not, the teasing is fun.

Certain his outfit is perfect for Valentine’s Day, he knocks on Betty’s bedroom door, an unmoving grin on his face.

When she opens the door, he is not expecting the vision that is Betty Cooper. A full-length silver dress with a low embroidered neckline that only accentuates her curves. Her hair is curled, cascading down her shoulders, and the beam of light from the shade in the far corner bounces off of it at just the right angle that it’s glowing a golden blonde color. 

For a hot second, Jughead almost forgets his overly polite first date act and finds himself staring with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. When his eyes reach her face, her lips upturned into a smirk, he snaps his mouth shut. 

“M’lady,” he says in a faux posh voice, bowing and tipping a hat he doesn’t have. “Why, you look wonderful.”

She giggles. “As do you, Mr. Jones.”

As he steps aside, Betty walks out of her room and hooks her arm through his. “To the living room we go,” he declares, and they begin walking the very short distance through their apartment to the living room, where he’d set up bowls of candy and chips along with their chosen bottles of cider. 

“Usually I’d wear heels with this dress,” she tells him, now moving away from the mutual act they’d put on, “so it’s a bit too long.”

He pauses just to take in the true extraordinaire that is her dress. And indeed, it hits the floor, puddling slightly at her feet. He swallows thickly as he lets his eyes rake back up to her face. “It looks amazing,” he says quietly, then louder, “ _You_ look amazing.”

If he’s not mistaken under the low light of the corridor between the bedrooms and the living room, she blushes, ducking her head. He half expects a teasing comment in response, but her voice is low and anything but teasing when she says, “It’s my best dress.”

He almost melts into the floor, instead forcing himself to continue leading them to their destination. Wordlessly, they reach the living room door, and Jughead kicks it open with his foot. He’s about to let Betty go in first when she drops her arm from his and starts giggling, hand covering her mouth.

“What?” he asks, a smile on his lips just from watching her laugh.

Still giggling, she points to the ground, and he follows her hand. 

“Oh.” He stares at his own feet. “ _Oh._ ” He starts chuckling when he realizes he forgot to change out of his pizza socks. He wiggles his toes, knowing Betty is still watching. “What? Are you not a fan of my sock choice?”

When she stops laughing, she moves her hand from her mouth to rest on his shoulder. “Oh, I am, but _really?_ For a date?”

He shoots her a cheeky grin. “Didn’t think it was one.”

Rolling her eyes, she skips into the living room, dress flowing after her. “Looking at what you’ve done in here, I seem to be under the impression that it _is_ , quite frankly, a date.”

He follows after her, pleased when he’s greeted with a huge smile. Her hands are holding her cheeks, jaw slacked in an open-mouthed smile. Her eyes are twinkling under the string lights he’d put up along the back wall, and when they meet him, he notices they’re watering a little.

“Jughead…”

He steps forward.

“You did all of this… for me?”

Embarrassed, he feels his cheeks heat up, but he nods anyway. “Well, what’s a fake first date without a bit of charm?”

His joke falls flat as she throws her arms around his neck, but he doesn’t mind. He lets his arms snake around her waist, dropping his head forward into her hair, which, may he add, is wonderfully-smelling. 

When she pulls back after a few seconds, he can’t help but be disappointed. That is until she spins around in front of him, taking in the whole room. Her dress twirls around her, and he realizes he hasn’t got anything to be disappointed about.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she flops onto the couch, patting the space next to her. “This is already the best real fake-first date I’ve ever had.”

He sits next to her, careful not to lean on her dress, and raises an eyebrow. “Real fake-first date, huh?”

“Yep.” She grins and leans forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

He grins back. “Right! Shall we order pizza?”

They’re forced—oh-so unfortunately—to sit even closer together as they lean over his phone, scrolling through the Domino’s app. His thigh is pressed against hers, unmistakably crumpling her wonderful dress, but he can’t bring himself to care when she’s leaning her head on his shoulder and the pleasant scent of her shampoo is clouding his rational thoughts.

“I want a Hawaiian one,” she all but whines.

He shakes his head, and hers wobbles on his shoulder. “Pineapple on pizza is a crime, Betty.”

She jolts up, practically jumping away from him. “What?” she exclaims loudly. “You don’t like pineapple on pizza?”

“Nope.”

She blinks. “Jug, look, I like you and everything…” Her voice is calm, but he can tell she’s faking it. “But this isn’t gonna work.”

He eyes her hopefully, sending her his best innocent smile. 

There’s a beat of silence in which she spends it glancing up to the right before looking back at him. “Can we go half and half? Or one pizza each?”

He pretends to contemplate her deal. “You can have your disgustingly illegal Hawaiian if I can order—” he scrolls on his phone, then turns it around to her “—this.”

“Valentine’s pepperoni?” She narrows her eyes. “What, does it come in a heart shape?”

“Probably.”

She rolls her eyes but grins at him. “Deal.”

Pleased at his triumph, he places the order and throws his phone aside, wordlessly inviting her to lean on him again. She catches the hint and effortlessly curls up by his side, head resting on his shoulder again and uncaring for the state of her dress.

They sit together in companionable silence. Jughead’s hand finds comfort on her arm, drawing patterns on her exposed skin, and Betty lets out a peaceful sigh every so often. It isn’t until the knock at the door interrupts them that they realize neither of them put a movie on like planned. 

“I’ll get it,” Jughead says as he hauls himself up and away from her. 

She glances over at the blank TV screen, then back at him. “We never put a movie on.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh, yeah. Choose one while I’m gone?”

She nods, and he disappears out of the room.

When he returns a few minutes later with a stack of boxes, Betty is leaning back onto the couch, her feet resting on the coffee table. She’s pushed aside the bowls to make room for them and is sipping a bottle of berry cider. On the TV is the opening credits to a movie he doesn’t recognize, and she’s humming happily to herself. 

Pausing at the door, he smiles. Who knew this would happen when he agreed to let her move in just a few weeks ago?

“Pizza!” he announces as he waltzes into the room. He drops the boxes on the middle seat of the couch, sitting cross-legged on the far side. He opens the top box—Hawaiian—and hands it to her, chuckling when he opens the next to find a heart-shaped pepperoni one. “Look. You were right.”

“You paid extra for that,” she says with an eye roll.

“Worth it,” he counters, taking a slice. “Perfect for our not-a-date date.”

“What’s the third box?”

He hums through his mouthful, quickly swallowing it. “Leftover. For tomorrow. Breakfast, if you like.”

“You’re a strange man, Jughead Jones.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling fondly. “Somehow, I like it.”

He grins triumphantly, shuffling backward to get comfortable. “C’mon then, let’s get this movie started.”

–

An hour later and two pizzas consumed, Jughead has a rather sleepy and slightly tipsy Betty Cooper laying with her head on his chest as she mumbles incoherent rants about the movie in question. He’s stroking her hair methodically, humming in all of the right places.

At one point, she starts giggling, moving off of his chest. 

He furrows his brows. “What?”

“For a not-date, this has been very romantic.”

He tilts his head from side to side, grinning. “Well, I try.”

She leans over to the table, picking up a handful of candy. Shielding them, she rummages through until she picks one, shoveling the rest into her mouth before presenting him with a single Haribo. 

“For you,” she declares once she finishes chewing.

He drops his gaze to her hand, grinning abashedly when he sees the red candy ring she’s holding. “The date gone that well, then?” 

“I’d say so,” she smirks.

When he leans in, he bypasses the candy and goes straight for her lips.

.

.

.

~fin

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. thank you for reading <3
> 
> lots of love y'all


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